Matilda’s reaction to their English guest might have been very different. Did he spark memories of that other Saxon, Brihtric, who had so beguiled her at her father’s court? Harold was said to be charming and attractive, and even Orderic Vitalis, who was highly critical of him, admitted that he was “very tall and handsome, remarkable for his physical strength, his courage and eloquence, his ready jests and acts of valour.”11 Edward the Confessor’s biographer, meanwhile, described him as “distinctly handsome,” graceful and brave. He also wrote admiringly of Harold’s seemingly inexhaustible energy, claiming that he was “well practised in endless fatigues and doing without sleep and food, and endowed with mildness of temper and a ready understanding.”12 Whether Matilda felt nostalgic or resentful upon meeting this scion of the Anglo-Saxon race is not recorded, but she would certainly have been present for all of the elaborate ceremonials that her husband had ordered. Indeed, she played an equal part in ensuring that their English guest was “hospitably entertained,” and the thirteenth-century Norwegian chronicler Snorro Sturleson describes how “Harald sat on the high seat on one side of the earl [William]; and on the other side sat the earl’s wife.”13
According to a fanciful account of their meeting written by a nineteenth-century poet, when Harold first laid eyes upon Matilda, he was struck by her beauty, which both reminded him of, and eclipsed, his mistress Edith’s celebrated charms: “Ne’er hath he seen a form so fair … A yearning sigh escapes the guest!”14 Matilda would then have been in her early to mid-thirties, and she was still renowned for her dignified and graceful bearing. Snorro Sturleson praised her beauty and painted an intriguing picture of a flirtation that sprang up between her and Harold. According to his account, “the earl [William] went generally to bed, but Harald and the earl’s wife sat long in the evenings talking together for amusement at the drinking table.”15 Such was the apparent intimacy between them that the duke was seized by jealousy, as Matilda confided to Harold: “The earl has asked me what it is we have to talk about so much, for he is angry at it.”16
None of the earlier sources repeat this tale, but it does have a ring of truth about it. Matilda had become acquainted with members of Harold’s family during her childhood in Bruges—and perhaps even with Harold himself. She was extremely well informed about the politics of that kingdom, and could probably also speak a little of its language—an accomplishment that her husband had not achieved. She therefore had more in common with their English visitor than anyone else at the Norman court, and it is conceivable that they developed an affinity during Harold’s stay.
Having thus been royally entertained at the ducal court, Harold then embarked with William for the campaign in Brittany, where they were to wage war against Count Conan II, whose rebellious barons had looked to the duke for assistance. Spying an opportunity to extend his dominions still further, William had been only too happy to oblige. His English captive distinguished himself in the fighting, even though the campaign as a whole failed to dislodge the Breton ruler.
According to the Bayeux Tapestry, it was on their return journey that William finally made his move and invited Harold to swear fealty to him as the rightful heir to the English crown. This is contradicted by Poitiers, who claims that the oath took place soon after Harold’s arrival in Normandy, at Bonneville-sur-Touques.17 Meanwhile, Orderic Vitalis writes that it was at Rouen that Harold recognized the duke as his future sovereign.18 The fact that the sources are so contradictory casts doubt not just upon where the oath took place, but whether it took place at all. It may have been another example of later Norman propaganda to justify William’s conquest of England. The only English source to corroborate it is Eadmer, and his account cannot be given full credence because it was written some thirty years after the event, by which time England was firmly under Norman rule.19
If Harold did agree to subjugate his own claim to William’s, it was only because he had been backed into a corner. He would have known that the duke, for all his apparent geniality, had no intention of releasing him until he had wrought some advantage from his unexpected visit. Even so, it seems that he resisted as long as possible. According to both Malmesbury and Jumièges, William was obliged to give him an added incentive by offering him his daughter Adeliza—“who was not yet of age”—in marriage, together with “the whole of her inheritance” and “half the kingdom of England.”20 Snorro Sturleson agrees, noting that the girl was “very young” (she would have been about seven years old) and that “it was resolved that the wedding should be deferred for some years.”21 Meanwhile, William asked Harold to send his sister to Normandy so that he might give her in marriage to one of his nobles.22
The evidence suggests that Matilda was responsible for the betrothal between Harold and her eldest daughter, and that this had been the motive behind all those intimate conversations with their English guest. When Harold learned that William was suspicious of his dealings with his wife, he immediately relayed the content of their discussions: “I have to inform you, earl, that there lies more in my visit here than I have let you know. I would ask your daughter in marriage, and have often spoken over this matter with her mother, and she has promised to support my suit with you.”23
It is possible that the betrothal between Adeliza and Harold is depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry. One of only three women to feature in the work is a lady referred to as “Aelfgyva.” She appears just after the scene in which the captive Harold is at William’s palace in Rouen, and the two men are in earnest discussion. She is standing in an ornate door frame, perhaps part of the ducal palace. A priest touches her on the cheek, while a naked figure in the lower border mimics the gesture in a suggestive fashion. The action then returns to William and Harold as they depart for their campaign in Brittany. Two recent historians have claimed that the puzzling scene represents Adeliza’s betrothal to Harold.24 According to their theory, the priest is either placing a veil over the girl’s head or removing it, both of which actions were involved in formal ceremonies of betrothal. She is referred to as Aelfgyva because she may have adopted this English name upon her marriage to Harold, just as Queen Emma had done when she married Aethelred the Unready in 1002.
This theory does make sense in terms of the tapestry’s narrative thread. It also provides a plausible subject for William and Harold’s discussion in the previous scene. However, it is by no means certain that the girl would have adopted the name “Aelfgyva” if the marriage had gone ahead. Moreover, if a daughter of William had been included in the tapestry, then she would surely have been referred to by her proper name, the tapestry being a Norman commission. The naked figure that appears beneath the scene also casts doubt upon the theory, because it hints at a sexual scandal involving the girl. Not even the most subversive of artists would have dared to cast such an aspersion upon the daughter of the king. Besides, the lady who features in the tapestry is clearly an adult, whereas Adeliza would have been a child at the time of the betrothal.
A more likely theory is that “Aelfgyva” represents the unnamed sister of Harold, whose hand in marriage William secured the right to bestow as part of the bargain with his rival. Harold had a sister called Aelfgifu, which corresponds closely with the name of the mysterious girl in the tapestry. She would also have been the right age, for she was probably in her late twenties at the time of her brother’s visit to Normandy.25
Whatever the identity of this female figure, the tapestry does give us other clues as to the narrative of the period. For instance, in one scene it shows Harold between two altars holding sacred relics, which he touches with his hand as William, seated on a throne and holding a sword, looks on approvingly. Such a ceremony suggests that the duke was determined to make the oath as binding as possible. Even so, Jumièges attests that William retained Harold’s “handsome brother” Wulfnoth as a hostage against the earl’s reneging on his promise.26
If this oath really did take place, then it was a masterly tactic on William’s part. At a stroke, he had forced one of
his chief rivals for the English throne to admit that his own claim was inferior to the duke’s, and he made sure that the rest of the world knew about it by arranging a great gathering of notables to witness Harold’s oath. If and when the time came to invade, William could appear fully justified.
According to the contemporary sources, as soon as he had sworn fealty to William, Harold was free to return to England. As far as the duke was concerned, he had served his purpose, and the hospitality that he had been shown would no doubt have been swiftly withdrawn if Harold had outstayed his welcome. As it was, Harold was as eager to escape as William was to see him go.
Matilda no doubt triumphed in her husband’s success, and she was also very satisfied at the prospect of a highly prestigious marriage for her daughter Adeliza. In fact, the betrothal—like so many others made for political gain—would come to nothing. Within a year of his return from Normandy, Harold allied himself with Edwin and Morcar, sons of Earl Aelfgar of Mercia, and sealed the pact by marrying their sister Edith. He later defended the breaking of his oath by claiming: “I have no right to set any foreign woman upon the throne of England without having first consulted the princes. Indeed I could not do so without committing a great wrong.”27 According to Eadmer, William was so determined to make Harold marry his daughter that he sent a message demanding that even if he disregarded all of the other promises he had made, he should keep this one.28
Orderic Vitalis claims that young Adeliza was genuinely aggrieved to lose her Saxon lord, for she spurned all future talk of marriage. That she had fallen deeply in love with him upon her betrothal is a theme continued by a nineteenth-century poet, who has Adeliza (or “Aelgiva”) proclaiming:
I’d rather be than France’s Queen,
The Saxon chieftain’s destined bride;
I’d rather rest upon the breast
Of that stern warrior proved and tried!29
However, given the disparity in their ages, it is perhaps unlikely that she had formed such a strong attachment to him: Harold was at least forty years Adeliza’s senior at the time of their betrothal, and she was probably only about seven years old. When the betrothal came to nothing, she would presumably have continued her normal life alongside her sisters in Matilda’s household in Normandy until a new fate was decided for her.
Malmesbury gives a slightly different account, claiming that the girl died before the marriage with Harold could take place, which made him feel justified in relinquishing the oath that he had made to her father.30 However, he may have been confusing this with the death of Harold’s sister, whose hand in marriage William had asked to bestow as part of the bargain. According to Eadmer, when William upbraided Harold for failing to honor this part of the promise, he received the following peremptory (and rather tasteless) reply: “My sister, whom according to our pact you ask for, is dead. If the Duke wishes to have her body, such as it now is, I will send it, that I may not be held to have violated my oath.”31
Whether or not the breaking off of the betrothal really was the deciding factor in prompting Harold to abandon the pact that he had made with his great rival, events in England soon superseded it.
The most famous date in English history, 1066, was a year that began with a death and ended with a coronation. On January 5, Edward the Confessor died. On his deathbed, he bequeathed his throne to Harold, knowing that of all the rival claimants, he had by far the most support among the people. Orderic Vitalis claims that Harold had persuaded Edward to name him successor by telling him of his betrothal to Adeliza, whereby William had “granted him as his son-in-law all his rights in the English kingdom.”1 But this is highly unlikely, given that Harold had already abandoned the betrothal and married another. In fact, Edward had been persuaded by the witan council, an assembly of elite secular and ecclesiastical men whose primary function was advisory, which had met in the autumn of the previous year when it became obvious that the king was dying, in order to consider the relative merits of the various claimants.
Harold’s accession was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but clearly not until some time later, because the annalists wrote retrospectively that he “succeeded to the kingdom and held it 40 weeks and one day … and he experienced little quietness … while he ruled the kingdom.”2 The Saxon had all the qualities needed to make a great ruler. Even though he dismisses him as a dishonorable usurper, Orderic Vitalis admits that Harold was also “a brave and valiant man, very handsome, pleasant in speech, and a good friend to all.”3
Harold may have been popular in England, but powerful forces across the seas were preparing to attack. Among them was Duke William. Incensed by his rival’s flagrant disregard for the oath that he had made while in Normandy, he wasted no time in making preparations for a large-scale invasion. He traveled throughout his duchy holding court with his chief magnates to drum up support, and within a few short months he had amassed a considerable army. As Malmesbury describes: “Duke William … spent the whole of that year in warlike preparations, using lavish expenditure to keep his own knights in readiness and to attract those of others.”4 The prospect of sharing in the riches of one of the most prosperous countries in Europe drew supporters from far and wide. “As rumours of the enterprise spread to the neighbouring regions men with a lust for war flocked to the duke and made ready their weapons for the fray … panting for the spoils of England they gladly threw themselves into the perils that awaited them by land and sea.”5
In order to quell any doubts about his right to the crown of England, William wrote to Pope Alexander “to urge the justice of his campaign with all the eloquence at his command.”6 Harold failed to take the same precaution, and as a result, the Pope threw his weight behind the duke’s venture. As a symbol of this support, he sent William a square white banner lined with blue and displaying a golden cross; this was to be hoisted above the invasion fleet.
In making his preparations to invade, William had the full support of his ambitious wife, who was eager to add the crown of England to their dominions. It was said that the duke asked her if he and his men “might have the benefit of her prayers and those of her ladies.”7 Matilda no doubt acceded to this request, and did a great deal more besides. La Trinité, the abbey that she had commissioned in Caen to make recompense for her marriage to William, was probably still not completed at this time, but she decided that this would be the perfect moment to dedicate it. An elaborate ceremony was planned, to which all the high-ranking members of Norman society were invited. The date assigned for it was June 18, 1066, at the height of William’s propaganda campaign for his planned conquest of England. It was an important occasion for Matilda and her husband. A contemporary charter shows that as well as nobles from across the principality, all the most senior churchmen were in attendance, including Archbishop Maurilius of Rouen and four of his six subordinate bishops, eight abbots, and the heads of almost every monastery that had Duke William as its patron.
All of this may seem like a rather cynical attempt by Matilda to lend her husband’s campaign religious legitimacy, but the occasion did involve a genuine sacrifice on her part. On the day of the ceremony, she and William offered up their daughter Cecilia as a novice at the abbey.8 Giving one’s child to a religious house was considered the greatest gift that one could bestow upon God. It echoed biblical tales of people offering their children, animals, or precious possessions as a sacrifice. That William and Matilda should choose to do so at such a time was profoundly significant. They were effectively striking a bargain with God: they had given Him their daughter, now He should give them England.
During the ceremony, William led the girl to the altar and, taking her up into his arms, vowed before the assembly that she would be dedicated to God, by whose grace he and Matilda had been blessed with so many offspring and other gifts. As a compliment to the ducal couple, many of the noblemen present offered their daughters, sisters, and even mothers to the abbey, along with generous bequests of land.9
Although the religious life
was a common destiny for those daughters from aristocratic families who were not used to forge advantageous marriages, Cecilia was extraordinarily young to become a novice. She would probably have been little more than seven years old.10 As the daughter of the duke and duchess, she would have enjoyed a less straitened existence than many of her fellow residents at La Trinité. Women of high birth who entered the monastic life were permitted their own household and chaplain. Far from being recluses who lived out their days in an obscure corner of the world in sorrow and contemplation, they gained the freedom and authority that were denied them by the male-dominated secular life.
Nevertheless, to relinquish her daughter in this way was still a sacrifice for Matilda. The meticulous attention that she had given to her daughters’ education and upbringing suggests a caring and tender mother, so it cannot have been without pain that she bade farewell to the young girl. The sources do not reveal whether they had any contact after that time, but the rules of the abbey did allow Cecilia to receive visitors in her private apartments. Given how active Matilda was as a patron of La Trinité, it is likely that she saw her daughter regularly.
Cecilia’s entry into La Trinité was significant enough to warrant a mention by Orderic Vitalis, who noted: “her [Matilda’s] daughter, the virgin Cecilia, was consecrated to God and remained in his service for a long time.”11 He added that Cecilia was “brought up and carefully educated” by her mother’s namesake, the “vigorous” abbess Matilda, who was renowned for strict discipline.12 Jumièges also refers to Cecilia as “a virgin dedicated to God in the monastery of Sainte-Trinité in the town of Caen.”13
As well as being intended as a sacrifice to God, Cecilia’s fate may also have had a more practical benefit from Matilda’s perspective. It is possible that she intended the girl to rule the abbey in future and thus secure the continuation of her family’s influence there. If this was her purpose, then later events would prove that she had remarkable foresight.
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